


uncaring

by missymisery



Series: oceans rise, empires fall [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Dream Smp, Friends to Enemies, Gen, Post-Festival, Schlatt POV, Sea and Lava Level Rising Video references, unbeta’d
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27267298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missymisery/pseuds/missymisery
Summary: Schlatt used to care once.A long time ago, maybe. It’s been a while since then. A while since he let attachments dictate his actions, since he actually allowed himself to be concerned with the little things, like “friends”.Or: Schlatt thinks about Wilbur Soot.
Relationships: Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot
Series: oceans rise, empires fall [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997656
Comments: 15
Kudos: 127





	uncaring

**Author's Note:**

> this is badly structured but i needed to get this out my system

It’s quiet today.

Schlatt stands on the hill where the White House once stood. It had been tall and proud, stone walls that were built brick by brick by his former vice president—it was nothing but excess rubble now, materials that Schlatt had tossed into a pool of lava the second he could.

Manburg looked lovely. Certainly lovelier than the shitshow it had been before. Those gaudy dark purple walls that were adorned with black and yellow parapets that looked like it was caging them in. Wilbur had been proud of them, apparently, when he first sent Schlatt a photograph, tucked neatly inside an envelope with a handwritten letter and a wax seal that had an X on it. Schlatt thought it looked like shit. He said so in his response.

Wilbur still asked Schlatt for the endorsement anyway.

Schlatt took a seat along the edge of the hill. Tubbo did excellent work as the Secretary of State, especially with the decor. The festival looked fan-fucking-tastic, and with the cheery colors and the almost carnival-esque design, Schlatt couldn’t of have been more proud. 

Unfortunately, Tubbo was a traitor.

It’s not like Schlatt expected otherwise. Tubbo was always meant to betray him—he just didn’t expect it to be so soon. He kept the kid around as a sort of gamble, really, as a sort of mind game between him and Wilbur, because either way, Tubbo’s position made him untrustworthy. Didn’t make the lies hurt any less, though. He really did mean it when he said he saw the kid as his little protege, his little apprentice. 

Maybe there had been a part of him that cared about that. Who knows. Not Schlatt, that’s for certain, and it’s not like he really gave a shit. Betrayal? Big deal. He was still the fuckin’ president, and Tubbo can get fucked for all he cared. 

And speaking of traitors.

Quackity’s betrayal hit a bit harder. They had been in this together—they made a fucking _deal,_ and Quackity just backed out of it because Schlatt destroyed his precious little White House. Boo hoo hoo, then he goes and _cries_ about it to TommyInnit, crying dictator, acting like Schlatt’s the bad guy. 

It makes Schlatt sick. 

Quackity was all for Schlatt’s decisions. Kicking out Tommy and Wilbur? He fucking _cheered_ as they were driven out. Tubbo’s execution? He didn’t do a single fucking thing to stop it. But oh, the White House? _That’s_ where he draws the line?

Fucking pathetic.

There’s a fine line between anger and being royally pissed off. Anger implies passion, implies a red hot rage that simmers underneath the skin and runs through the veins. Being pissed off implies you’re sick and tired of everyone around you just not fucking getting it. Like sure, Schlatt could admit he wasn’t the best guy, that his actions bordered on fucking diabolical at times, but he’s just doing his goddamn job. Keeping this fucking place from being torn apart from the citizens’ misguided ideas of what Manburg is.

Curse Wilbur’s idealism. It’s made this entire goddamn nation sick with virtue, sick with false ideas of destiny and promise. And really, honor’s an empty thing. It doesn’t matter how you win. All that matters is you do.

If that makes him a cheat, if that makes him dishonest, if that makes him a _villain_? Then so be it. That’s not his problem. 

And to be fair, Schlatt used to care once.

A long time ago, maybe. It’s been a while since then. A while since he let attachments dictate his actions, since he actually allowed himself to be concerned with the little things, like “friends”.

He leans back against the edge of the cliff, looking up at the sky. Clouds slowly floated past the baby blue backdrop, and if he closed his eyes, Schlatt could imagine an island floating above the ground and Wilbur desperately trying to reach it, calling it the bastion of hope. 

He can recall the roar of ocean waves, water rising higher and higher as the minutes tick by, and _Schlatt, where are the windows?_ before he’s pushed off and made to collect sand. He recalls dirt walls and a glass ceiling and his heart pounding against his chest, and he’s keeping the door locked on Wilbur because he’s upset, but Wilbur wants to reach out to him, and Schlatt wants nothing to do with him.

Wilbur held the reins that day. He controlled the rise and fall of the sea below them, and even as Schlatt swam deep underwater, Wilbur was like an uncaring god, letting it rise as Schlatt tried to reach the surface, kicking his legs up and losing air. His suit had been soaked, and at Schlatt’s protest all Wilbur said was _it’s the rules, Schlatt._

But even with all that, even with every fucking slight Wilbur Soot did, even as Wilbur approached him when Schlatt said _no, I don’t want you here,_ even when Wilbur took out a goddamn fucking sword and said that with one more rise and you’re dead forever—a threat, and Schlatt fucking hated how he spoke, his tone all calm and steady—it had still just been them. 

~~_still just them even as wilbur breaks open the ceiling and nearly drowns schlatt, even as wilbur makes false apologies and says that wasn’t him it was just them why was it them_ ~~

So maybe it was understandable, then.

_It’s the rules,_ Wilbur repeated, and in that moment Schlatt thinks, _fuck him and his stupid goddamn rules, it’s just a fucking game, he can adjust them whenever he wants to, he’s just doing this to spite me—there’s no shame in cheating—_ and Schlatt tells Wilbur to drop the border, and Wilbur hesitates, but as the ocean rises Wilbur panics and drops the walls— _invisible walls, not dark and solid and comprehensible—_ but Wilbur, fuck, he’s kind of a dumbass, right? Goes off and _jumps,_ and Schlatt goes and calls out, _Wilbur?_ but when there’s no response his heart rate spikes and he remembers—

_One more rise and you’re dead forever._

Maybe it was understandable, you know? That misplaced care. After all, it had been just them. They both understand what the other went through. The only people who really could. And maybe Schlatt’s reaction, shock, anger, grief—that had been understandable. 

He tried to work with someone. And that backfired.

So, the next time Wilbur extended an invitation to work together, to do the same thing but on a colossally far more dangerous scale, Schlatt decided he wasn’t going to cooperate, he was going to take everything Wilbur worked for and _survive._

The ocean had been cold, but falling didn’t mean death. Lava was different. Lava burned and didn’t discriminate, it swallows up anything and everyone that got in its way with fire and ash.

Schlatt dropped a bucket of it on Wilbur, but Wilbur was quick to dodge, trying to get up to him and cried, _oh, but Schlatt, we have to work together—_

Yeah, right.

Greed isn’t bad, you know. It motivates the self. Keeps you on your toes. Wilbur’s cries for cooperation fell on deaf ears, because Wilbur had everything to gain and Schlatt had everything to lose if Schlatt even considered it. Wilbur was what, trying to get Schlatt’s empathy? 

Schlatt didn’t care when Wilbur fell. The lava swallowed him up, burning through his flesh and clothes and leaving nothing behind.

Wilbur’s voice echoed in his mind, desperately wanting revenge, he wanted Schlatt to burn too, but Schlatt was one step ahead this time. He wouldn’t let Wilbur get one up on him this time. Last time, he let himself grow soft, let Wilbur destroy everything he worked for and let Wilbur leave him all alone. 

This time, Schlatt didn’t want to play by Wilbur’s rules.

He cheated. But it doesn’t fucking matter, because in the end, he _won._

~~_wilbur counted down the rise of the lava with cold fury laced in the stillness of his voice, the heat rising and schlatt could feel his heart pound, because what if this didnt work_ ~~

And maybe he was alone in a barren world with nothing but lava and _soot,_ and oh isn’t that just fucking _rich_ , at the end of the day it always goes back to him, now doesn’t it?

Schlatt doesn’t realize he’s been digging his nails into his palm until he feels the skin break. He opens his clenched fists immediately, eyes snapping open as he stares back up at the sky, clear and absent of smoke and ash, the roar of ocean waves gone and replaced by the sound of birds and the wind, gentle and slow and quiet.

He stands up, pacing along the surface of the hill, walking back and forth and _thinking._ Schlatt didn’t care—not anymore—but it made him so pissed off, so goddamn frustrated, that everyone somehow sided with _Wilbur._

Wilbur was a loser. He’s established that. Wilbur never wins. Wilbur believed in broken ideals that gets him nowhere but he still follows out of some misguided sense of honor, of _virtue._ But Wilbur—and Schlatt lets out a laugh at this, because it’s _true_ , and he doesn’t know why nobody else can see it—he’s not _good,_ he just uses these ideals as an excuse to be the good guy. He’s just as greedy as Schlatt is. Wilbur Soot is just better at PR. 

He stops when he overhears voices. It’s muffled for a bit, but the voices become clearer and he sees Tommy and Quackity in the distance— _fucking traitor,_ he thinks—before they’re followed by Wilbur in his little trenchcoat and beanie, and they walk away.

Had they been underground? Schlatt frowns, but interest was in the back of his mind. Schlatt walks down to where he saw them, the netherite pickaxe Quackity had given him materializing in his hand as he finds a set of stone jutting out of the hill oddly, smelted stone trying to appear natural but looking like a man made formation.

He mines through it. 

A long hallway of rock that ends with cobblestone, and as he mines through that, he stops.

He wasn’t _scared,_ because that would be stupid, but there was this foreboding feeling creeping up on him. A chill ran down Schlatt’s spine, staring into the room.

_I HEARD THERE WAS A SPECIAL PLACE_

_WHERE MEN COULD GO AND EMANCIPATE_

_THE BRUTALITY AND THE TYRANNY OF THEIR RULERS_

The anthem, he vaguely recalls, and he thinks it’s sung to the tune of another song, but that doesn’t do anything to stop the dread that sinks into his bones.

The lyrics are scrawled on the walls, almost desperately, the lines and curves of the letters like slashes on the wall. There is a single button on the stone, but he doesn’t dare press it, because there are sticks of dynamite on the ground, tied together loosely by string and Schlatt doesn’t want to know where the TNT this button is connected to detonates.

He knows exactly who did this.

So Wilbur Soot wanted to blow something up, huh? Why the fuck would he do that, considering all his talks of creating and peace and—

~~_glass breaking above him water rushing in drowning drowning_ ~~

—has Wilbur fucking _lost_ it?

Schlatt lets out a laugh. Oh god. This was rich. He has to put a hand against the wall to keep himself from falling over laughing. This was going better than he expected. He knew he’d break Wilbur’s spirits, but _this?_ This was just so goddamn funny.

Finally, everyone would see just the _~~monster~~_ fraud that Wilbur is.

  
  
  
  



End file.
